


a very private person

by nowrunalong



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowrunalong/pseuds/nowrunalong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Finch avoids Reese's questions, and one time he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a very private person

**1.**

“How’s that new seafood restaurant?” Reese asks, by way of greeting.

“You do realize, Mr. Reese,” Finch says, not looking up from the screen in front of him, “that I’m perfectly well aware you’ve set your pet detective on my trail. Fusco may be efficient at his day job, but he’s hardly as subtle as you are in the business of spying on people.”

Reese shrugs almost imperceptibly.

“Are you saying you don’t like seafood?”

Finch seems to calculate the risk associated with answering this question, mouth set in a slight frown.

“It’s an innocent question, Finch,” Reese says. He’s said it before; he means it now.

“If it were an innocent question, what would be the point of asking?”

“What, I can’t try to make casual conversation?”

Reese widens his eyes innocently and Finch’s gaze flickers over to give him a look before returning to his surveillance feeds.

“We both know that neither of us is particularly inclined to carry on casual conversation, Mr. Reese. That’s probably why we’re in this line of work.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try,” Reese reasons.

Finch looks up again, twisting his whole upper body in his office chair to meet Reese’s eye.

“I’ve told you before, Mr. Reese. I’m a very private person.”

Reese gives up for now.

“Do we have a new number?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**2.**

“He’s your dog, Mr. Reese.”

“He spends more time with you, Harold,” Reese says. “Bear’s your dog, too.”

Finch can’t argue with this. Bear snuffles and pokes his nose into Finch’s leg until the billionaire reaches down and scratches his head.

“You ever had a dog before?” Reese asks.

Finch raises an eyebrow slightly but otherwise ignores the question.

“Our new number,” he says, getting up and pinning a photo to the wall, “is Mary Latimer, 38. Ms. Latimer works at a clothing retailer. Every afternoon she doesn’t work, she takes her dog, Lee, to the park down the street. I’ve checked her schedule: she’s free this afternoon.” Finch turns then, grabbing Bear’s leash off the desk and offering it to Reese. “Why don’t you see what else you can find out.”

“You coming? Or have you got somewhere else to be?”

Finch hesitates, then gets his coat.

**3.**

Reese arrives early with doughnuts, coffee, and a green tea for Finch. Finch nods rather than voices his thanks, inspecting the paper cup before taking a sip.

“Why Sencha green?”

Reese isn’t sure why he’s asking.

“There are many health benefits to drinking green tea, Mr. Reese. Perhaps you ought to try it.” Finch eyes Reese’s coffee with mild distaste before accepting a donut from the proffered box.

“Are there health benefits to eating donuts, too?” Reese’s mouth quirks into a smile.

Reese reads the answer on Finch’s face. _Don’t be silly, Mr. Reese._ His smile widens.

“This been a tradition of yours for a long time?”

Finch turns from Reese and limps over to his desk, settling down in front of the monitors and giving the keyboard a tap.

“For some time,” he says vaguely, after a minute or two has passed.

Reese supposes that’s as good an answer as he can expect.

**4.**

Reese still hasn’t guessed Finch’s favourite colour. 

After he meets Grace he wonders if it’s red, like her hair, but that doesn’t seem right. Red is the colour of blood and anger, and Finch is so averse to violence.

He guesses that asking will get him nowhere. It usually does.

What colour were Grace’s eyes?

**5.**

“Does it have to be beer?”

“Got a better idea?”

Finch is quiet for a moment before answering.

“I’ve got somewhere in mind.”

It’s a twenty-four hour breakfast place with a bar on one side. A bit high end; nothing like Denny’s. It’s Finch’s choice, after all.

“My treat,” Finch says, as they settle down across from one another in a four-person booth. It’s quiet and they’re not pressed for space. They both order the eggs Benedict, and Reese gets a beer.

“Alcohol with breakfast, Mr. Reese?” Finch comments, after the waitress has left.

“It’s not exactly breakfast time, Finch.”

Finch gives him a wry half-smile; it's as close to happy as Reese ever sees him. He'll take it.

“I suppose you’re wondering if I come here often,” Finch says, after a pause.

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

“No, I’m sure you weren’t. I’ve noticed you’ve given up on the direct approach.”

“It wasn’t getting me anywhere,” Reese reminds him.

“Narrowing the knowledge gap,” Finch starts, “between what I know about you, and what you know about me—it’s been harder than you expected.” It’s not a question.

Reese watches as Finch takes a drink of water.

“You’re a very private person, Harold.”

“Yes,” Finch agrees, setting the glass down again.

For a moment, Reese thinks that Finch will admit something about this place. Perhaps he used to come here with Grace in the mornings before she set up her painting. Perhaps he used to walk here alone, feet needing someplace to carry him to in the middle of his sleepless nights.

The waitress returns with their food then, and the topic is closed.

**6.**

It’s been a while now since Reese began to think of Finch as his friend. He hopes that Finch thinks the same of him, but it’s hard to tell. The billionaire evidently cares for Reese—has saved his life on numerous occasions—but Reese can’t help but wonder if he’d do the same for anyone. After all, they’ve both dedicated their lives to saving people.

Reese turns on his earpiece.

“How are things on your end, Finch? Dug up any deep dark secrets?”

Finch’s reply is immediate.

“Nothing, Mr. Reese. Not so much as a late credit card payment. It seems that our number leads a very lawful life.”

“Sounds dull.”

“Perhaps.”

“You ever regret this?” Reese asks. He expects silence or a change of subject, but continues regardless. "Working from beyond the grave? Giving up everything for the sake of others?"

“I haven’t given up quite everything, Mr. Reese. I have you.”

Reese grins. It’s the answer he’d been looking for.


End file.
